


skip the pleasantries

by folieafuck



Series: you've redefined your legacy [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Transgender Characters, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26107936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folieafuck/pseuds/folieafuck
Summary: Theo only shakes her head and hands the newspaper over. Taking it with trembling hands, Philip skims the headline, wondering what could possibly be worse than being outed in a college column.SEXUALITY OF STATE: THE DEVIANT WHO CONTROLS THE TREASURYHe has to read it a few times for the meaning to sink in. He even has the belated thought,Don’t I know the Secretary of State?before he realizes. If the title wasn’t a blow to the face already, the author’s credits wipe out his current grasp of reality and all things he understands.Written and edited by George I. Eacker
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/Maria Reynolds, Alexander Hamilton/Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, George Eacker/Philip Hamilton (1782-1801)
Series: you've redefined your legacy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895566
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	skip the pleasantries

Philip Hamilton straightens his shoulders, takes in a breath, and marches through the front door with his chin held high.

Maria looks up from the foyer couch, a novel of his father’s liberated from the library and into their lap. They’ve adorned a calf-length pair of black breeches and a loose-fitting shirt: a new outfit they’d been given among many others. They can only cycle through Philip’s childhood clothing so often before they become sick of his questionable taste.

They offer him a wide smile, which would usually calm whatever nerves have set off inside him. It doesn’t work this time, though, and the corner of their mouth droops a little. “Philip?” they ask, instantly bookmarking their page.

Philip hesitates at the softness of their voice, but swallows and soldiers on. “I need to talk to you guys.”

Maria blinks, surprised, before rising to their socked feet and joining him by the door. “Well, let’s go find the other two,” they offer. Their rationale should lower his hackles, but it only raises them further. Wordlessly, they both ascend the staircase to locate his folks.

Angelica gives him a cheery wave from her bedroom while Susie perks up to see who it is, effectively whacking her head against the dollhouse. His face flickers with concern, but he doesn’t stop to make sure she’s alright, and this is what appears to finally put Maria on edge.

The other pair of Hamiltons are sequestered in one of their many offices, Alexander scribbling furiously on a splintered desk and Eliza rooting through a box of mismatched files. When they hear footsteps, they simultaneously turn and offer their son pleased smiles; but, as with Maria, their faces fall when they see Philip’s face. 

“Hey.” Alex clears the room in the space of a heartbeat, clasping Philip’s shoulders. “Is everything alright?”

This is it, this is his moment; but Philip’s throat has dried out and his carefully planned words have left him. Eliza makes a worried sound, and he’s led to the worn armchair adjacent to the desk. He slumps back, burying his face in his hands.

“You can tell us anything. You know that, right?” his mother asks gently, running her fingers through his hair. This has the opposite result she’d wanted, however, for he jumps back to his feet, absently ghosting his own fingers over his head.

It takes him a second, but he finally gathers what little courage he can find and mumbles, “Ma, Dad, Maria...I’m gay.”

He turns away quickly, because he’s terrified of their reaction. The silence that follows is excruciating, and, after a beat or two, he forces himself to look back.

His father appears to be holding back laughter. Maria’s giving him a curious look, and his mom keeps the placid look on her face. He feels a wave of embarrassed anger wash over him. “What’s so funny?” he asks, voice raising of its own accord.

Maria winces, but he doesn’t have the time to apologize before Alexander has stepped up and wrapped his arms around him. This would normally be the time he’d make a height-related crack, but he’s too startled to come up with one. Alex gives him a pat on the back and says, amused, “Pip, you’ve been with Eacker since freshman year. Don’t you think we’d know that by now?”

Philip chokes, but he doesn’t move to push him away; he only keeps his own limbs limp at his sides. “I-I mean, I never really _told_ you. I’ve been thinking about it ever since you published, and...and I just wanted to be honest. I wanted you to know. I’m sorry—”

Eliza and Maria are quick to envelop him on either side, while Alex squeezes him even harder.. “No, baby,” Eliza’s voice comes muffled through the fabric of his coat, “don’t apologize. It’s brave to say that aloud, to anybody, and we’re so happy you trusted us enough to do so. We love you, _and _George.”__

__“You’re a good kid,” Maria beams meekly. He definitely doesn’t start tearing up at that one, he swears._ _

__Alex pulls back to press a kiss to either of his cheeks, which he gags at half-heartedly. “Let’s go downstairs and make dinner a sexuality celebration,” he suggests, unable to swallow his laughter this time._ _

__Philip chuckles awkwardly, but turns them down with a shake of the head. “Actually…” he glances behind him, through the door, but Maria’s already nudging him away with a poke from their chipped nail._ _

__“He’s outside, isn’t he?” they smirk. Philip ducks his face so they don’t see his blush._ _

__“I’ll see you guys later tonight, okay?” he warbles, already jogging down the hall. “Thanks for being cool! Bye!’_ _

__Their mirth carries him all the way to the driveway, but he takes no offense this time. Not much. Not really._ _

__George is leaning against his porch railing, one of those stupid cigars sequestered between his fingers. It isn’t that Philip’s one of those evangelical weirdos who condemn any pleasure of the flesh; it just eerily reminds him of James Reynolds. In retrospect, George manages to make it look sexy, so he’ll happily let it slide._ _

__George’s waistcoat is pulled tight to his chest to block the night air, and his boots tap a beat into the wood Philip can’t hear. Wordlessly, he goes to him and presses himself to his back, resting his face in his warm shoulder. George doesn’t even flinch; he reaches behind him to grip his locks, a motion they’ve adopted as their own sweet nothing. Remembering his mom trying to do the same nearly makes him shudder; recalling his dad’s uproarious attitude when he’d spoken to him so openly makes him want to sink into the polished deck. Instead, he sighs peacefully, and George takes a puff before inquiring, “So it went well?”_ _

__Philip huffs a laugh, bringing his hands around to lock them across George’s torso. “Yeah, I should’ve guessed. Dad started laughing, it was so obvious.”_ _

__George wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Philip quickly moves to change the subject. He’s not quite sure why George isn’t a fan of his father. They’d discussed the article he’d written last year, and his explanation about the lack of student involvement in political discussion had made perfect sense to him. But, ever since George had begun visiting the house, he’d taken a quick dislike to the Secretary. It unnerves Philip; it’s one of the only things George does that bothers him, and not just because he fucking loves his dad. Whenever he brings the idea up, it worms it’s way a little deeper into Philip’s brain._ _

__“I’m glad that was his reaction,” George says icily. Dammit, Philip missed his chance._ _

__“Don’t worry about it, baby,” he implores, tickling George’s sides until he reluctantly swivels around. His expression is sour, but as soon as they lock eyes, he softens, cupping his cheeks. “Worry about where you’re taking me tonight.”_ _

__He half-grins before drawing him in and pressing his lips on his. Philip nearly steps back to check if anybody’s on the street; but George tangles their ankles together, opens his mouth, and he suddenly couldn’t care less._ _

__They walk down the cool Philadelphian streets, making sure to stay close so they don’t run the risk of not touching. The occasional townsperson will stride down their path, but nobody seems to give them a second glance. Shockingly enough, ever since Alex had released The Reynolds Pamphlet, Philip had been left near enough alone. Sure, the painting of him Eliza had commissioned when he’d turned sixteen had been published in the newspaper, and he had indeed been approached at school a few times by illintended dicks; but after a few weeks, it’d tapered down to nothing._ _

__And yet, here’s another thing George doesn’t enjoy about his father. Philip had actually framed the pamphlet in his bedroom, the pride he felt towards his parents plus one deserving to be displayed for all to see. When George had read it himself, however, he’d stomped up to Philip on campus and spent the better part of an hour ranting about “breaching his privacy” and “not considering consequences.” It’d been sweet, if a little misplaced._ _

__“My delight?” Philip lifts his distracted gaze from the cobblestone to see George’s handsome face illuminated by the bar lanterns. “You with me?”_ _

__Philip beams with all his crooked teeth, and he kisses George in the middle of the square, not considering a lick of consequence. Very pleased with this development, George cups his neck, places a hand behind his back, and dips him nearly to the ground._ _

__When they rise and pull apart, seemingly unnoticed, Philip reaches up to caress his warm face and says cheekily, “I’m always with you, George.”_ _

__George gently takes his fingers and places them in his mouth, fast as lightning, teasing as a bastard._ _

__With that, they stroll into the Olde Ale House for their night of dating and debauchery._ _

__─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───_ _

__Fuck Sam Adams. He should’ve trembled off this mortal coil a hell of a lot sooner._ _

__Philip throws a hand over his narrowed eyes to block out the blaring sunlight, biting back a groan. He’s acutely aware he probably could’ve avoided this, if he’d paid any attention at all to his alcohol consumption. He’s certainly had enough practice; but it’s a tad more difficult when the man you’re with downs three shots for your one. Letting that stand would’ve been out of the question. Hours later, he’s taking this sentiment back._ _

__Someone sits way too loudly next to him, and he gurgles audibly, “Keep it down.”_ _

__The offender gives him an interested glance, then proceeds to slam her bag onto the floor with every muscle in her body. Philip slams his hands over his ears. “Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking on a Monday,” she suggests, ten hours too late._ _

__Philip makes another wet, violent sound in her direction, something along the lines of, “Shove it up your shift.” Theodosia sighs, and Philip allows an eye to squint at her, hopeful he may be coddled. “Some of us like to have a little fun, you know.”_ _

__She shakes her head, impossibly long curls cascading over the smooth, purple fabric of her bodice. “As a matter of fact, I do have fun,” she retorts, kicking up her ankles to rest them on the frame of her desk, “and plenty of it. Just not the day before class, dummy.”_ _

__Philip tries to concoct a brilliant riposte, but the professor strolls in at that exact moment, so he’s saved from trying to think too hard. The bright flashes in his vision fade eventually, and he manages to get through the period, with a little help from the water canister he hopes Theo doesn’t tire of lending. Once the bell rings, they accompany one another to their respective next classes._ _

__“Were you with George last night?” she asks coyly, a thick French text tucked underneath her arm. He’s still winded, and although Theo is nothing like his parents, he still tries to distract her by carrying her books. The annoyance on her face is almost comical. “You know as well as I do I carry more of these in a day than you do all semester. Stop stalling.”_ _

__Philip rolls his eyes, hoping it hides the discomfort that’s made itself at home in his chest. “Who else would I be with?” he shrugs, not meeting her eyes. He hopes she doesn’t notice, but, naturally, it’s Theodosia. She stops in her tracks, effectively bumping into a few freshmen and glowering at them to keep it moving._ _

__“What’s happened, Philly?” she asks, subconsciously making fists with her small hands. If she had been speaking to anyone else, they might not have noticed anything was amiss. Having known her since infancy, Philip can instantly point out the bearing of her perfect teeth, the downward twitch of her eyebrow, and the slight elevation of her posture._ _

__Resting his hand on her elbow, he gently steers her towards the open Debate door. “You don’t have to kill anybody,” he assures her, reiterating this with a pat on her head. Her nose wrinkles. “I...I just came out to my parents. That’s all.”_ _

A flicker of surprise glosses over Theo’s face, and it makes Philip feel a bit better. At least _someone_ can give him an appropriate response. It’s no secret between them what and who Philip prefers; they spent half of primary school comparing the boys in their classes in different languages, so not many could decipher their secrets. And the pamphlet had been a humongous step in acceptance, at least around this part of the state. Nobody’s standing outside their house throwing rocks and screaming about repentance. Even so, the terror that wracks through him is almost nauseating. Maybe voicing it to her will shatter the resilience they’ve shared. 

__Instead of breaking his heart, Theodosia lays her hand on his forearm and gives him one of her rare, genuine grins. “Looks like my boy’s all grown up,” she laughs. He can tell she’s trying to sound condescending, but the crack at the end spoils the whole thing._ _

__“I’ll see you at lunch,” he smiles back, resting his hand on her knuckles briefly before dipping behind a throng of students._ _

__The rest of the day passes in the blur only heavy drinking and young love can orchestrate. Once they’re finally released, Philip feels much better than he had that morning, and he chats with Theo for a few minutes until her father shows up. Burr offers him a clipped nod before locking arms with his daughter and leading her to their carriage. Philip’s never understood Aaron Burr; the way Theo speaks of him, you’d think he’d invented campaign organizing. The first time Philip had been allowed to visit Theo, he’d stalked by the study door every so often, poking a conspicuous head inside to check on them; after that, they’d been pretty much left alone. Due to the reactions from his family, he now figures Burr caught on, and has effectively labeled him a non-threat._ _

__He still hadn’t asked to return, though, and Theo hasn’t offered. He thinks she secretly strives for the days her father allows her to go over to his place, because his home is filled with happy children, games a-plenty, and three kind-hearted adults. There’s no rules, no regulations, and definitely no fucking charm school._ _

_Kind-hearted?_ a familiar voice whispers in the back of his mind, but he pushes it back into the recesses of his mind. 

__He winds up steering away from the house, instead wandering by George’s. He hadn’t seen him in the campus lot, but he hadn’t looked for him, either. He’s usually in one club or another: Lawmakers of America, Debate Politics, and General Labor Review name only a fraction of his extracurriculars. Philip has more often dragged George out from behind mountains of studies, which leads to another parallel between him and his parents he doesn’t want to draw._ _

__He taps the brass knocker against the wood a few times, and Mr. Eacker promptly swings the door open. “Mr. Hamilton!” he announces with a smile, stepping back to allow his entry._ _

__“Hi, Mr. Eacker,” he greets, shuffling inside the modest living room. He’s aware of how expensive his house is, so it’s almost a relief strolling into the neat, mildly-decorated space. There’s no silverware you’re banned from touching, nor light fixtures you eye suspiciously, lest they crash down on top of you. George’s home has wooden models, well-worn furniture, and knicknacks scattered on every free surface._ _

__Mr. Eacker snorts, slapping his free palm on Philip’s shoulder. He tries to hide his flinch. “I know exactly why you’re here,” he intones, and Philip almost trips over himself. “He just got back from one of them after-school activities, so ‘course he’s got his buddy running over to help. I told him not to sign up for all them subjects, but you know how he is…”_ _

__Philip fights a disbelieving look, favoring instead to nod weakly and pretend he’s listening as they walk down the hallway. He guesses not _everyone_ is as observant as his family. They finally end up at his bedroom, and Mr. Eacker gives him one more smack on the arm before disappearing. Philip knocks on the door quietly. When there’s no answer, he presses his cheek to the frame and calls out, “George? You busy? I can come back.”_ _

__He staggers forwards as the door swings open and he’s unceremoniously dragged inside. He can’t even make fun before he’s tossed onto the bed and a large body clambers on top of him, two hands by his head as George meets his lips. No lantern is lit, so he can only make out his sharp shadows through the daylight underneath the curtains. He can still clearly see his broad shoulders, can feel the facial hair he refuses to shave, and he can most certainly still throw his arms over his neck and attack his mouth._ _

__“I missed you,” George mumbles, dragging his own hands up and underneath Phillip’s shirt._ _

__Philip kisses him for a while longer, until George slips away and starts a trail of wet down his neck. “I saw you a few hours ago,” he insists, a small smirk on his face, but this only makes George growl softly and sink his teeth into his collarbone. Philip whines aloud, reaching to grab a hold of him; but George slaps a palm over his mouth, and he stops immediately, eyes wide._ _

__“You think that’s enough?” He pops the buttons off of Philip one by one with his free hand, making sure he’s following his every movement. “I’d lock you in here and throw away the key if I could.”_ _

__Philip tries to mumble back, “You should,” but it comes out unintelligibly beneath George’s hand. Finally done with the offending top, George slowly puts a finger to his lips. He waits until Philip nods, then he lets go of his face and tugs the whole thing off. Hastily, Philip helps him throw it away, and then he’s clawing at his arms to silently beg._ _

__He doesn’t have to elaborate. With one more look of warning, George slides back down his throat. As he guides his tongue down his clavicle, hovering over a budded nipple, he casually rests his hand on the outline of Philip’s cock. He comes scarily close to making a sound, but he chokes it back at the last second as he tangles his fingers in George’s hair. He doesn’t move for a moment, presumably testing to see if Philip’s actually going to listen._ _

When Philip tightens his grip, George breathes out a laugh and laps at his chest. Philip’s sure his bottom lip must be bleeding, he’s biting it so hard, but he’s not going to do anything to risk losing this. He rolls his hips up, and George takes the hint to squeeze just as he pinches his nipple in between his teeth. A gasping noise echoes throughout the room, and George pulls off with a satisfying _pop_. 

__“What did I say?” George inquires, although the tight hold he has on Philip’s cock shows no signs of going anywhere._ _

__Philip pulls out his best pout, rocking into George and tugging at his tight curls. “Unnnhhh,” is what he settles on._ _

__Even with his dominant façade, George can’t help but chuckle. “I don’t think those were my exact words, cinnamon.”_ _

__Philip shoves him down for a kiss, and this shuts the conversation down for a while. Somehow, they manage to shed George of his own button-up, although they leave their britches on in case of emergency. He’s got a tongue down Philip’s throat, a knee holding him up as he almost tenderly caresses Philip underneath his hem. He can’t stand it; he meets his touch everytime, until finally George slips into his breeches and takes his bare cock in his palm._ _

__Philip fucks his hand, refusing to let go of George’s hair. When the man drifts back for air, a trail of spit follows him. “Do it,” George murmurs, almost like a challenge, and Phillip accepts it._ _

__Trembling, drooling, Philip comes to with George back on his nipples, as if he were trying to get him started again. Laughing fondly, Philip taps him on the shoulder until he pops back up, and he sucks on his lip just as he bucks against him._ _

__It’s overstimulating, and accelerating, and the look on George’s face makes every awful thing he’s ever gone through worth it. He nudges him with his own knee until George falls onto his back, pleasure turning to confusion. This fades satisfyingly quickly as Philip swings on top of him, tugging his pants and breeches down in one fell swoop. Before he can do anything, Philip’s taking his cock into his mouth, sucking on the head just to hear him smother his own cry._ _

__He doesn’t last very long, but Philip can’t blame him. He’s relentless, taking the entire length down as soon as his throat allows and gripping the base with equal fervor. It only takes until he starts messing with his balls for George to cuss as quietly as possible and come against his tongue._ _

__Philip watches him for a moment: soaking wet, panting hard, and looking destroyed, all because of him. When he cracks open an eyelid, he beckons him over, and Philip instantly climbs on top of him. He buries his face into his neck and wraps around him._ _

__“Should we clean up?” he mumbles, resting his chin on George’s chest to gaze at him fondly._ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Shouldn’t I move?”_ _

“ _Hell_ no.” 

__Biting back hysterics, Philip contents himself to snuggling down and getting some rest. They can’t stay here forever, he knows, but Mr. Eacker never usually wanders down this way after hours, and they’ve spent the night studying quite a few times before. The act of leaping into the bag on the floor and feigning snoring has become an art form to them, although Philip doesn’t see much of the man wandering around, anyway._ _

__As Philip allows himself to be dragged into unconsciousness, he catches George whisper into his hair, “I’m not going to let him hurt you ever again.”_ _

__Philip doesn’t understand this, but in his satiated state he takes it as postcoital nonsense, and he begins to dream of large hands and warm bodies._ _

__─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───_ _

__Philip’s heart stops on a Tuesday morning._ _

__Not literally. When he’d turned fifteen, he’d fallen seriously ill, and his heart nearly had given in. He fondly remembers how his father had cooed over him, dosing him with the newest medicine he could find and spending hours by his bedside. He’d read and even sung when his son felt too sick to sleep, and he’d brought all his meals to make sure he’d actually eaten. These pleasant memories seem to come so few and far between, now._ _

__Even so, he can still feel it shattering._ _

__Theodosia isn’t in the main hall chatting with friends as usual, instead hovering almost awkwardly by the front door, her petticoat whipping around her from the early wind. Philip jogs up when he sees her standing there, and his perplexity only grows when he sees how distraught she is. He catches his breath on the step in front of her, then bounds up and places his hand on her arm. “Theo? Did the Marquis ban beautiful women from learning the French language today? Are we rioting?”_ _

His humor only seems to sadden her more, which makes the severity of the situation rise exponentially. “Philly…” She rustles something against her chest, and for the first time, he notices the copy of _The King’s Gazette_ folded neatly under her arm. His heart moves from his feet to the pits of Hell. 

__“Did somebody see us?” The way his voice rises in pitch with every word should be funny, but it’s the farthest thing from it._ _

__Theo only shakes her head and hands the newspaper over. Taking it with trembling hands, Philip skims the headline, wondering what could possibly be worse than being outed in a college column._ _

_**SEXUALITY OF STATE: THE DEVIANT WHO CONTROLS THE TREASURY**_

He has to read it a few times for the meaning to sink in. He even has the belated thought, _Don’t I know the Secretary of State?_ before he realizes. If the title wasn’t a blow to the face already, the author’s credits wipe out his current grasp of reality and all things he understands. 

_Written and edited by George I. Eacker_

__Theo’s shaking him, now, and she might be speaking, but he makes a dismissive sound and continues on._ _

_Alexander Hamilton_ , it begins in that poetic way of his, _betrays the role he represents as a leader of our nation. He takes the rights the American person has been lawfully given, and he bastardizes them to whatever his own selfish will has required. Is there a Constitution set in place? Mr. Hamilton will find the loophole. Is there a rally occurring downtown to protest the unfair ruling of President Washington? Mr. Hamilton will weasel himself into the throngs of the underprivileged and shut it down. Is there an opportunity to bring shame to his wife, mistress, and children? Mr. Hamilton will gladly take it._

_As a matter of fact, why_ don’t _we question the pamphlet such a man has published, under the intent of respect and consent? There is no proof to show Miss Maria Lewis has ever given permission to be described in such a publication, nor Mrs. Eliza Hamilton, nor Mr. Philip Hamilton and the rest of his young siblings. Have they provided consent to worship this man as a god? Have they provided consent to air out their private affairs, all to clear his name? I write to you, the King’s College alumni, to implore you to seek out this man and demand to know his intentions..._

__The newspaper is suddenly torn from his hands, and he looks up in shock to see who could've taken it. Theo’s watching him with the most frightened look on her face he’s ever seen. He’s very confused, but he manages to stutter out, “Theo? What’s happening?”_ _

__Theo lets out a broken sound, and she wraps her arms around him as well as she can. It’s now he realizes his chest is shaking, his shoulders are bent, and horrible, wanton sobs are falling out of his mouth. Theodosia rocks him on the front steps, whispering things he can’t hear and trying to comfort the fracture that’s just cracked him in two._ _

__He has never been betrayed in this way. He’s had friends who have turned their backs on him at the earliest opportunity to progress socially; he’s seen his father’s political opponents slew his name through the mud for a single vote; once, before college, he’d even tried his hand at being with a woman, and it hadn’t gone well. All of those scenarios combined can’t describe the agony coursing through him._ _

__The hilarious part, he muses as he nearly gags over Theo’s back, is that he’d almost sided with George on this front. Given a few more weeks, a little more whittling in private and pointing out his public misdeeds, Philip feels he’d have agreed wholeheartedly with him. He’s been noticing the small, heartless things Alexander does on a daily basis, and he’d been eating up George’s observations like a rebelling child’s candy. Maybe they’d have denounced him together._ _

__Nothing his father has ever done, no thoughtless comment or selfish motive, could ever compare to what’s just been published. George couldn’t have hurt him more if he’d tried._ _

__He must have run out of air at this point, because Theo’s nudged him over the railing, and he’s vomiting onto the dirt. This spurs him out of his tantrum, although when he manages to get a handle on his guts and clear away the tears, he still feels like he’s been adabonded by the roadside. Theo takes an embroidered handkerchief from her bag and wipes off the rest of the snot, rubbing his shoulders and his sides. She pays very close attention not to touch his hair, and he tries to remember to thank her for it later._ _

__“We’re not going to class, right?” she asks softly. He shakes his head, too exhausted to insist she go on without him. “Do you want me to walk you home?”_ _

__Philip moans, but before he can start crying again, Theo uses her impressive strength to lift him by his armpits and onto his feet. “Okay, Philly, breathe. We don’t have to go there, but we can’t stay here, and we can’t have you wandering the streets like this. I’m taking you to my house.”_ _

__What little sense Philip has left screams in protest, and he tries to voice this; but Theodosia takes his arm in her’s, just like her father had, and they proceed to the Burr Residence without further incident._ _

__─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───_ _

__The heat billowing from the mug clenched in his hands grounds Philip, just a little. He still isn’t in his right mind, but the tea is warm and delicious, and the elaborate grandfather clock next to him sounds the seconds. He can focus on these sensations, and keep himself from crying._ _

__Mr. Burr has tried talking to him a few times, and the last thing he wants to do is tamper with the already fragile relationship he has with his father, but the best he’s been able to manage is “Thank you, sir,” and “I’m sorry, sir.” The appreciation was for the tea; the apology was for his miserable state._ _

__He’s been seated in one of the many living rooms, for if Philip’s house is decorated richly, and George’s sparingly, Theodosia’s is laid out professionally. It must not be much bigger than his own, but it isn’t cluttered with priceless statues and those weird glass things Eliza buys whenever she goes into town. The couch isn’t deadly soft, nor painfully average, but it feels as if it were designed for some sad sap to curl up and weep on. He’s proud of himself for putting off the latter._ _

__Theo’s wandered in a few times, but he knows he isn’t the best conversationalist right now, so she seems to have disappeared. The way she’d taken care of him without a second thought is more than enough, in his opinion. If she hadn’t been the one to tell him, if she hadn’t waited for who knows how long outside, who knows what he would’ve done?_ _

__A set of leather footsteps sound behind the couch, and Philip wipes away in the vagrant tear trying to escape as Mr. Burr makes his way over. He’s dressed for a day of changing lives and rewriting history, and, through his bleariness, Philip wonders what he could be doing at home. The thought of Theodosia sending someone to fetch him from work makes him want to crawl into the gorgeous fireplace and never come out._ _

__He waits for an appraisal, or a dismissal. Instead, he sits next to him. Gazing at the pit himself, he says nothing, so Philip continues to absorb the steam and count the steady, sullen ticking._ _

__Right when he thinks he’s imagined Mr. Burr’s appearance, he clears his throat. “Mr. Hamilton, I apologize.” Straightening, Philip rests his cup onto the glass table, suddenly aware he’s going to drop it if he’s to be stunned any more. “I’m afraid I understand more than anyone about Alexander’s tendencies, with the exception of his wife and partner, of course. When Theo brought me the school paper this morning, it was almost like I was back in college myself.”_ _

__Philip shifts a fraction of an inch to get a decent look at the man he’s always considered a stranger. He’d given him handshakes at hundreds of banquets, and he has quite a few memories of him being in the house as a child; but whenever his father speaks about Aaron Burr, Philip’s always interpreted his feelings towards him as a reluctant respect. He’s read about the lawyer’s many impressive accomplishments, as well, but he’s not sure anything could’ve prepared him for this interaction._ _

__He realizes he needs to respond. “Thank you, Mr. Burr.”_ _

__He turns to meet his eyes, then. “I don’t think you should be thanking me. I dated your father during the last two years of our studies.”_ _

__Philip should probably be more responsive to this, but out of all of the trials of the past few hours, this doesn’t seem so bad. He leans back a little against the armrest. “What happened?”_ _

__“Well, it started when he wrote an article about me.” Mr. Burr seems to relax as Philip does, hands previously clutching themselves now flat in his lap._ _

__Philip can’t quite believe his ears. “What’d he say?” he nods for him to continue, keeping it as snippy as possible. He thinks Mr. Burr almost smiles at this._ _

“He’d claimed that I was a fraud. I’d used my father’s death as a stepping stone to success, and I’d manipulated the entire student body, staff included, into thinking I had a single thought in my head. He signed off by recommending I be expelled immediately, for the good of the education _and_ justice system.” 

__Half of Philip is appalled at his father. The other is begrudgingly impressed. “And then?”_ _

__Shrugging, Mr. Burr seems to be searching for something behind Philip’s eyes. He must find it, because he replies, “First, I beat him half to death behind the history building. After that, he asked me to dinner.”_ _

__The twist of this tears a laugh from Philip, somehow, out of all of the turmoil. “I think I understand Theo a lot better now.”_ _

__Mr. Burr really does smile this time. “She’s a quick-witted young lady, I admit.”_ _

__Feelings slightly comforted, Philip returns to his now lukewarm mug and ventures, “I see the relationship didn’t last?”_ _

__Mr. Burr kicks his feet up onto the table, a gesture so misplaced, it fits just right. “We were two different people. He liked stirring up trouble and didn’t care what the effect was. I kept my head down and did what I was told. We decided it’d be more appropriate to stay acquaintances instead.”_ _

__“Is that when he met Eliza?” Philip asks, relishing in this aggressively normal discussion. “And you met Mrs. Burr?”_ _

__“On the same night, as a matter of fact.” His hands begin to drum on his thighs again. “But that’s a different story.”_ _

__“So why are you telling me all this?” Philip sips at his tea, more intrigued than aching at this point. “Is the moral to take George on a date?”_ _

__Mr. Burr chuckles again, but it’s a much drier version. “There isn’t a moral. I suppose I only want you to draw your own conclusions to how you should react. Your father will have his opinions, as will Mr. Eacker, and certainly my Theo. You’re a smart young man, I’ve heard the stories of your success from her often enough. But, as Alexander is, you’re susceptible. You like to please people. On very rare occasions, we need to please ourselves.”_ _

__Abruptly, he swings his legs back onto the carpet, pushing to his feet with a barely audible grunt of pain. Philip is struck for the first time that his parents, Maria, and Theo’s dad were all his age once. As Mr. Burr demonstrated, it’s entirely possible they’ve experienced the exact thing he’s been subjected to. He might even consider asking for their advice. What is he becoming?_ _

__“You’re welcome to stay,” Mr. Burr offers, suddenly leaning against the doorway. “I imagine school isn’t the best idea. But I’m sure two-out-of-three Hamiltons are at home, and I’ve found at least a half of that pair to be endlessly empathetic.”_ _

__Philip quickly tries to drum up an excuse, but Mr. Burr’s made his leave already. He sinks into the cushions, rolling around everything he’s just heard in his cluttered mind. He doesn’t feel like jumping off the nearest bridge anymore, which is a relief. If he dwells on the article for longer than a few seconds, however, his stomach begins to hurt. He’s not sure he’s prepared to waltz on down to the Eacker residence and extend an invitation to the local steakhouse._ _

He _definitely_ doesn’t want to stay here, however. As appreciative as he is of Mr. Burr’s random burst of sincerity, he’s pretty confident it isn’t going to last. Swinging by the kitchen to rest his cup in the sink, he takes once more look at the intricate, organized design of the house before slipping into the afternoon light. 

__He meanders a while, taking the long way around town so he can windowshop; or stall the inevitable, whichever you prefer. Oddly enough, when he reaches the intersection that leads to his home, his heels pivot him in the direction of the political offices. He strolls by Jefferson and Madison’s, Adam’s soon-to-be-abandoned building, and, finally, the well-kept and yet disorderly office of Alexander Hamilton._ _

__Through the slightly smeared window, he can make out his father sketching a diagram on the chalkboard covering the back wall. There’s some charts showcasing the rise and fall of citizen satisfaction, a half-decent floor plan of the White House, and an array of equations that’s purpose escapes Philip. Alex has his hair down, an occurrence that only transpires during hard work and late nights._ _

__Philip comes close to chickening out, to sliding out of view and taking a few more laps around the city. Instead, Alexander happens to look up, and his face splits into a surprised grin as he shoves posters and various models out of his way._ _

__“Hey, Pip,” he says cheerily as Philip makes his way inside. The place has the pleasant smell of old books and worn leather, a scent that’s embodied his father his entire life. He’s swept up for a moment in memories of spending late nights on the floor of his office, playing with toys until he’d pass out and Alex would carry him gently to bed. Once, he’d knocked over a bottle of ink in his boyish excitement and ruined an entire week’s worth of analyticals. He’d glanced up at his father with wide eyes, unsure what such a crime could warrant. Alex had laughed, and he’d thrown all the wet papers onto the floor._ _

__“I didn’t like where it was going, anyways,” he’d shrugged, and after Philip helped him dispose of the trash, he’d been allowed to help write the new thesis._ _

__“School let out early?” he asks, moving the clutter from the nearest chair to let him sit._ _

__Philip looks at his father for a moment. The image of his poorly-hidden giggles flash through his head, but not under George’s lens. This time, he sees a proud dad, tickled by the fact that his son thinks he doesn’t know him inside and out. He sees an overjoyed friend, holding him close and celebrating him. Alexander is a callous, insensitive, impulsive narcissist, that much is true. But he’s also affectionate, diplomatic, and hilarious. When was the last time Alex had made him cry? Maybe when he’d been in the early stages of teenagedom and had misconstrued his complicated heart, just as he had this time._ _

__Soundlessly, Philip clears the room and wraps his arms around his dad’s waist, a polar-opposite picture._ _

__Alexander squacks, caught off-guard, but he quickly hugs his son back. His hands stay on the lower side of his back, overcompensating for earlier. “Skipping class for this?” he teases, and Philip can tell he’s keeping his voice as unexpectant as possible. “Now I understand.”_ _

__“George fucked up, Dad,” Philip confides, darting his eyes around the room in his worry. “He fucked up really bad, and I don’t know what to do about it.”_ _

__Alexander rubs his spine for a few moments more before stepping back, although he keeps his hands on Philip’s shoulders. His face shows no signs of humor; he seems to be tamping back rage at this confession, which Philip much prefers to comedy. Alex lets his compassion overshadow his anger, though, which he shows in the comforting smile he plasters on his face. “Let’s talk about it, then,” he offers. The two men sidle into the rickety chairs, and Philip absently makes sure to be close enough to bump knees._ _

__He manages a pained grin on his own lips, which he knows looks more like a grimace. “I should probably show you.” It takes a second, but he pries the crumpled wad out of his pocket. For the first time today, he’s glad he didn’t rip the thing up and burn it._ _

__Alex lays the newspaper flat on the table and smooths out the wrinkles as best he can. “‘Sexuality of State,’” he begins, and falters immediately._ _

__On a whim, Philip lifts his seat and scoots to sit side-by-side with Alex, and he rests his cheek on his shoulder. “It gets much worse than that, Dad,” he whispers._ _

__Alex swallows, the first traces of anxiety beginning to show in the lines by his eyes, and he begins to read._ _

__It gets much, much worse._ _

__─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───_ _

__Phillip goes back to class the next day. He’d certainly tried to convince his folks to let him stay home, but Maria had tugged his jacket over his shoulders and said, “You can’t hide forever, and you can't let him control you. Get to stepping.”_ _

__So here he steps, slipping past students whose interests range from discreet whispers to outright ogling. His dad’s relationship hasn’t been a secret for some time, but the new demoralizing document seems to make the people curious. He doesn’t care. He gathers his books, he runs through his schedule in his head, and then he walks into class._ _

__Theo’s face lights up the second she sees him, although she tries to hide it behind a cool expression. “Look who decided to show up,” she hums, although she pats his back when he sits down._ _

__“What, you think I’d stay home and miss your torture?” She laughs aloud, which makes him feel a tad bit better. “It’ll be fine. It’s just a stupid article.”_ _

__Her countenance shifts slightly, as if she disagrees with that statement, but she decides to keep her opinion to herself. The period goes smoothly, with the exception of some kid staring down the back of his neck, which he’d refuted with an ugly glare. As Theo walks him to the next class, he focuses all his energy on not turning around._ _

__“Are you going to be okay?” she asks, eyeing him in concern._ _

__Philip smiles shakily at her, returning her friendly pat. “I’ll be fine. If I start screaming, you have permission to strike."_ _

__She gives him a brief hug before disappearing into her own classroom. Philip looks up at the labeled door frame and tries to get a hold of himself before walking in._ _

__He sees George immediately. He’s in their usual spot, so he makes a beeline for the back of the room. He thinks he’s escaped detection until he stands, shoving past clueless students and hitting the one who’s sitting next to him until he leaves, cursing under his breath._ _

__“Baby!” George greets, like nothing is amiss. “What happened to you the other day?”_ _

__Calmly, Philip extracts his textbook from his bag and says nothing._ _

__George has the audacity to look surprised. “Is this about the newspaper? I told you, I wasn’t going to let him hurt you again. I figured if I published a dissection of his misdeeds, everyone would start thinking for themselves.”_ _

__Taking the bait, Philip lowers his eyebrows angrily and responds, “Think for themselves? You wrote a bunch of bullshit telling people your opinion was sound, when it isn’t. I didn’t ask you to do that.”_ _

__Affronted, George leans over to display his seriousness, but it only makes Philip's skin crawl. “You didn’t have to ask. I wanted to protect you.”_ _

__“I don’t need protecting from my dad,” Phillip hisses, ignoring the appearance of the professor. “He isn’t the monster you seem to think he is.”_ _

__“He laughed at you!” George raises his arms to the ceiling, and the teacher clears his throat. He falls silent, but spends the rest of the class sneaking glances at him. As soon as he steps out the door fifty minutes later, George jogs to his side. “Philip, please.”_ _

__Still walking, Philip trains his gaze onto the floor. “Please nothing. Leave me alone.”_ _

__That’s when George grabs his arm, and he pulls away with a hiss, stepping back. George seems to be slowly losing patience, which Philip can’t fathom. ‘No. Just talk to me, maybe you’ll understand—”_ _

“I said, leave me alone!” Philip’s fists start shaking next to his hips. George’s anger gives way to shock. “I don’t need _protecting_ , and I don’t need to understand why you took the liberty of defaming my father. I need you to stay the hell away from me.” 

__With that, he shoves his way past, not looking behind him. George doesn’t try to follow, thank god. He falls into his next class' chair baring his teeth, and most of the examinations of his peers are quickly thwarted. Theo comes in a few seconds after him, and she sits quickly. “Is everything alright?” she asks, fingers worrying at her skirt._ _

__Philip lets his face soften. “Not really. But,” he adds when she looks ready to bite, “it’s fine. Let’s just pretend everything's normal, okay?”_ _

__She looks like that’s the opposite of what she wants to do, but she shrugs anyway, and they shift the conversation to lighter topics._ _

__He’s out the front doors much earlier than he feels is necessary. The sun blares on the pavement unforgivingly, a contrast to the cloudy weather they’ve had the past few weeks, so he irritably wipes his brow and begins his walk home._ _

__This proves to be a moot point, because a group of older students mysteriously begin to follow his path. With a quick glance behind him, he can make out Samuel Seabury, one of the aforementioned evangelical weirdos. Great. He hopes they’ll tire of casually chasing him, but when they eventually run up and block his path, this notion is dismissed. Richard Price, an old high school friend of Philip’s that turned cold and hard, leads the pack. Oddly enough, Benjamin Rush is here, too, although Philip could’ve sworn he’d graduated before he even enrolled._ _

__“Afternoon,” he hails, beating them to whatever amazing starter they’d cultivated. “How can I help you gentlemen?”_ _

__Richard snorts, straightening his posture to assume a higher position. He only beats Philip’s height by an inch, but he struts that measurement as far as he can—among other things, he's sure. “Certainly,” he counters as Samuel flanks to one side and Benjamin to the other. “We have a few questions about the article printed the other day.”_ _

__To his credit, Philip keeps his cool, shoving his hands in his pockets and presenting an amicable smile to his offenders. “Shoot,” he allows; Richard absently smiles at this, which makes Benjamin nudge him with his elbow._ _

__‘Specifically, we’d like to note the polyphiliac relationship your parents and that whore indulge in,” Benjamin explains, the smugness apparent in his poisoned words, "as well as the apparent reveal of your father’s character.”_ _

__Philip almost strikes, but maintains his ground with a simple shrug. He has to play his cards right. “What would you like to ask?”_ _

__“For starters, we’re curious if you happen to be involved,” Benjamin chuckles, and the world stops spinning._ _

__Philip has never been especially violent. He'd scared James Reynolds off with words, and the few times he's had to physically defend himself have all taken place much earlier in his youth. Occasionally, he'll box with sandbags behind his house, but he wouldn’t call that prizefighting._ _

He seems to go blind for a minute. When he resurfaces, Benjamin is somehow beneath him, his face purple and his fat mouth open in a scream. Richard seems to be clawing at his shirt to get him off, but he bucks back to nail him in the stomach, and he relents. Philip lands another sharp punch against his nose, sinfully relishing in his pain. _That's what happens when you insult Maria_ , he thinks with the next rapid blows. _That's what happens when you disrespect my family. That’s what you get. Fuck you. Fuck you, George. Fuck you, George. Fuck you—_

__"You're going to kill him!" Samuel shrieks from somewhere above him, and that's the only thing that makes him stop. Not because he doesn't want to snuff this man out, but because he refuses to dirty his surname anymore than George already has. The other two help him stagger up, and he spits a tooth onto the pavement._ _

__“You’re crazy,” Richard whispers, not noticing the blood dripping onto his sleeve._ _

__Samuel says nothing, content to stand there and look terrified. Benjamin, to his credit, manages to muster up a lisped growl, "George Eacker wath right. You and your dad are thome fucked up people.”_ _

__As if he’d delivered the winning comeback, he swivels on his feet, and the three meander back the way they came._ _

__Philip looks down at his hands, because only now does he register the miserable pain throbbing through them. His knuckles are mangled, smeared with wet blood, and he can already see the outlines of the bruises. The middle is the worst; at the crooked angle it’s turned, it might be broken. He shakily holds his wrists to his chest and begins his own stumble home._ _

__Nobody stops him, thankfully, so he doesn’t have to drum up an answer as to his state. He shoulders in the door, biting his lip when he bangs his hands against himself._ _

__Eliza must enter from the greenhouse, because she’s wearing a dirty shirt and an equally dirty skirt. Her hair is sweaty and a little mussed, but the ponytail she’s tied it into shows off her pleased, flushed face. She smiles wide when she sees Philip._ _

__“Hi, honey, how was—” Her whole body seems to go rigid when she sees his hands. “Philip, oh my god!”_ _

__He starts telling her that it’s nothing, but she doesn’t hear him as she tears through the room. She pulls gently on his wrists and ignores his protests, so he reluctantly presents his injuries. Muttering under her breath, she runs her fingers over them, and Philip draws in a breath at the fresh agony._ _

__“Bathroom. Now,” she commands. He follows her lead like he’s a child again and he’s fallen while playing, but this time, against the side of someone's head. She gestures to the closed toilet and he sits, watching her rummage through the cupboards until their first aid kit is revealed._ _

__She works in silence, which Philip is thankful for; he’s not sure what he would say. Dipping his hands into warm salt water, she shushes him when he groans, but that’s all. She dries them off carefully, then applies some soothing cream and wraps them in a fabric bandage._ _

__Then, she simply looks at him. Philip tries to move away from her gaze, but it’s impossible. She doesn’t seem disappointed or angry, but her face doesn't give away anything, either._ _

__Feeling the sudden urge to speak, he rests his hands in his lap and croaks, “You should’ve seen the other guy, Ma.”_ _

__This softens her steel, and she pulls him in for a hug. His position makes it a little hard, but he doesn’t move. “I thought your days of beating Mr. Eacker were over,” she chides, wrapping her arms around his neck._ _

__He shakes his head, and when she pulls back to give him her full attention, he stands. If he’s a little taller than his dad, he towers over his mom; she has to crane her neck to keep eye contact. “Not him,” he explains, scooching them both out of the tiny room. “These upperclassmen cornered me after class and said some...unsavory things.”_ _

__Her nose wrinkles, her idea of an angry face, and he feels relaxed for the first time since he saw Mr. Burr—even more so, at this sense of familiarity. “You know Alexander can do something with the parents, right?” she asks, but he’s already disagreeing._ _

"It’s not primary school,” he sighs, flopping down on the parlor’s couch and trying not to touch anything, lest he bump his knuckles again. “I’m nineteen. If I can’t take care of this myself, I shouldn’t even _be_ in college.” 

__She huffs in disagreement, sitting in the loveseat across from him. “What kind of things did they say?” she asks, legs crossing. ‘I can’t imagine what could possibly make you lash out.”_ _

__Before he can go into detail, Maria’s moseyed into the room, their own trousers stained and the loose flannel of Alex’s they’re wearing covered in leaf clippings. ‘Who's lashing what?” they ask with a smile in their voice; but when they see the bandages, they, too, run to him and take them in their own. “Philip, what did you do?”_ _

__He recaps for them, to which they get comfortable on the couch next to him. “So?”_ _

__Philip rubs at his face, wincing when the fabric slides against his wounds. “I don’t want to repeat it,” he says, muffled. “It was really bad, worse than that dumb article.”_ _

__The two shoot each other a look. “What article?” they ask at the same time. Their synchronization almost cheers him up, but the nature of the question just makes him sink further into the cushions._ _

__“There’s a copy in the office,” he mumbles, and he listens as the sound of tiny, muddy boots make their way there and back. He peeks up as they pour over the article, Maria’s lips moving as they read. When they’ve both finished, Eliza surprises him immensely; she rises and rips the paper in half, then again, then again. When all the shreds lay on the carpet, he looks at her in shock. The unoffending annoyance has transcended into a horrifying expression of rage. Her cheeks are red, her eyes dark and narrow, and she seems to be panting almost rabidly._ _

Maria lays a gentle hand on her back, and Eliza only barely retracts her claws. Philip is struck again by how much his parents needed Maria in their life, how much _he_ needs them; but this only brings back Benjamin's foul words and cocky smile, and his poor fingers form a fist, hurting him again. 

__“I cannot believe this,” Eliza mutters, trying with visible effort not to start screaming, for Maria’s sake. “We let that young man into our home. We trusted him with you, our most prized possession, and this is how he thanks us? By sullying Alexander’s name and putting you in danger?”_ _

__Although their stance is much calmer, Philip can still tell Maria’s teeth are grinding. “What did he think he was going to accomplish?” they ask rhetorically, their disbelief apparent._ _

However, Philip has an answer for them. “He’s got some complex that I’m an abused waif who can’t think for himself, and he pins it all on Dad. Half of that article doesn’t even _say_ anything! It’s just him postulating to try and work out his stupid feelings." 

__This cools Maria down even more, somehow, so much so that Philip has to sit up and ask, “What? What’d I say?”_ _

__They make their way back over to the couch, and sit cross legged next to him. Lacing their fingers around their ankles, they seem to be searching for something in his face, as Mr. Burr had. Their gaze isn’t half as domineering as his mother’s, but he’s still incapable of turning his head. They possess the aura of someone done with being pushed around and forgotten; it almost feels like he’s looking in the eyes of one of Washington’s soldiers, hardened by war, warmed by family._ _

__“Are you?” they question. He’s about to deny the accusation, but they stop him with a raise of the hand. “Now, hold on, really think about it. Was any of what he said true?”_ _

__Resentfully, he forces his brain to go over the inked words he’d nearly memorized. The part about the morality of his parents’ relationship is erroneous, just as the lies about dismantling protests and defacing the Constitution. But, there’s one paragraph that sticks out from the rest, one he so desperately doesn’t want to acknowledge._ _

__“I guess.” He pulls his knees up to his chest, and the two squatting on the couch look a funny pair. “He said Dad didn’t ask my consent for the pamphlet to be published, and he didn’t. Maybe that bothered me a little.”_ _

__“Definitely maybe,” Eliza returns from her delicate pose in her seat, “just like when you got upset when you came out to us.”_ _

__Philip cringes. “I thought nobody had noticed.”_ _

__Maria looks like they want to laugh aloud at that, but unlike some people, they have the wit not to. “It was pretty obvious. But if Alexander had laughed at me when I told him how I felt about being a woman, I think I would’ve cried for days.”_ _

This perks Philip’s ears, having not heard this story before. “What _did_ he do?” 

__They smile faintly, digging around for a memory of their own. ‘He told me he loved me, and lent me all your clothes. After a few months, I came home from the store to see all of them replaced with brand-new menswear. That...was the most compassion I’d ever been given, by anyone. I was understood, and I certainly cried, but for good reason.”_ _

__Philip’s stomach flutters unsurely as he recalls his own confession. His father had, in fact, offered to throw a party. He didn’t open his armoire to reveal skirts and dresses, which he’s pretty sure he's relieved about, but he’d still been received with open arms._ _

__He’s already come to terms about this, however. “What’s that got to do with this?” He lifts his maimed fingers into the light._ _

__They put a hand on his cheek, warm and unmarred. They still have scars in certain places, like the raised cut on the back of their neck and the way they sometimes cower if a man moves too fast; but they’re whole, and alive, and he gets to have them in his life forever. “It’s a different perspective, that’s all,” they shrug, a real grin forming. “I’m not sure I agree with the part about your parents and I’s corruption, but, if sloppy, he’s only sharing an opinion he thinks will benefit you.”_ _

__He leans into their palm, even as his eyebrows knit. “How could dragging him through the mud help me at all?”_ _

__They pat his face, an odd callback to Theo in the hallway. “He’s protecting you.”_ _

__Philip groans loudly, falling backwards and hiding his face in a pillow. “That’s exactly what he said, but I don’t need that! I need a normal fucking boyfriend who doesn’t hate my dad.”_ _

__They offer a tinkle of a laugh, and Eliza adds, “That’s going to be a little hard, sweetheart. A lot of people hate your father.”_ _

__Philip mentally coincides with this point, but he keeps his face submerged as he thinks. Maybe he’s a hypocrite for challenging George’s free speech, but he still isn’t happy with him. Why talk about consent when he hadn’t asked Philip for his to be blasted? Why not be sensible and, oh, he doesn’t know, talk to his father for more than five seconds so he can see how wrong he is?_ _

__Another pang goes through his fingers, but this is a different ache. Against all odds, he misses George. Not unlike Alexander, he’s callous and independent, and he usually doesn’t think about anyone but himself. But when he’s with Philip, he has a sweet thing to say at every turn, and he spends the time he’s not up his own ass to make him feel loved. That night at the bar, not afraid of someone challenging them for holding hands, not caring if they'd been spotted kissing in the street; he did that because he's in love with him, which is the misconceived reason he'd publicized what he had._ _

__He wants the jerk back in his arms, right now. But the pride and the anger build up right next to that want, and he knows there’s only one way to deal with it._ _

__He pushes himself up, giving Maria ample warning, before marching assuredly into the office his mom and his person had just emerged from. It isn’t hard to find a blank parchment and a bottle of ink in the mess on the tabletop._ _

__Falling into the old wooden chair, he dips his quill into the darkness, and he begins to draft a letter of his own._ _

__─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───_ _

__The grass is cold under his ass, and his overcoat isn’t doing much to fight the bitter wind, but Philip stays. He’s only been on the dueling field once, when the man Andrew Jackson had lost his incredibly short temper and shot a man who insulted his wife. Philip had thought it a noble cause as a small child; but now, recalling how he had misshot and refired, he realizes the pointlessness and the horror. There's nothing honorable about murder._ _

__He passes the time by watching the stars, trying to pinpoint the brightest and the biggest. As soon as he locates it, the arrogant, egocentric light taking up the whole damn sky with its beauty, he hears wet, heavy steps approaching._ _

__He looks down, and George is standing there, looking more like a sheepish little boy than a nearly grown man. His hands are shoved in his breech pockets, a loose button-up cuffed and tight on his skin. Philip feels the instinct to reprimand him for his carelessness, remind him of the time last year he got sick and cried when he hadn't been allowed to visit, but he keeps these thoughts to himself._ _

__“Are you going to shoot me, Hamilton?” he starts, the faint trace of a joke barely making it past his nervousness. “‘Meet me on the dueling ground’ can only mean so much.”_ _

__Philip allows him a stunted smile, but it disappears as soon as it touches his face. He has to take this seriously. “Not yet. Come sit with me.”_ _

__George almost trips over himself to land next to him, and his facial expression gives away his surprise at the coldness of the grass, but he tamps it down and gazes at Philip. Fuck, how is he going to do this? He’s gorgeous, shrouded in moonlight with that sorry little pout. The anger seems to tap him on the shoulder, reminding him of what he’d done, and he’s back in his head._ _

Seeming like he’s about to speak, George parts his lips; but Philip only has to look into his dark brown eyes for him to slam them shut. _Thanks, Ma._

__It takes him a minute to start. He looks at that star again, feels it’s warmth and it’s hubris, and he spoils George once more by nudging a bit closer. George’s eyes widen, but he stays silent._ _

__“I’m so mad at you,” Philip begins, but his voice is soft and careful, so George keeps his counsel. “When I read that article, I threw up. I ended up at Aaron Burr’s house, I was so out of it. Do you know how demoralizing that is?”_ _

__The corner of George’s mouth twitches, but he only nods._ _

__“You...you disrespected me, George.” He refuses to let George look away, although he seems like he’d do anything right now to keep him here. “You took my trust in you and bastardized it. You mentioned my consent in your fancy words, but never bothered to ask regarding this. I don’t understand how you could publish something like that without asking me. I’m supposed to be your boyfriend.”_ _

__George seems to go through a few emotions at once: elation, sorrow, acceptance. Hesitantly, he lifts a hand from his lap, apparently restraining himself to the best of his ability. Philip waits a moment, thinking, before he slowly reaches out, but he doesn’t take his hand. Whatever George had been about to say evaporates as he finally notices the bandages wrapped around his fingers._ _

__“Phillip…” his voice wavers, and, with pleading eyes, he carefully takes them in his own. Phillip wants him to kiss them, badly, but he’s already gotten this far. “What happened?”_ _

__Philip shakes his head. “You need to tell me, first.”_ _

__Breathing shallowly, George’s hands start to tremble. Philip’s struck by just how big they are, how safe. All the dramatic language in the world couldn’t describe how badly he wants George to be safe for him again. “I’m sorry,” he chokes, and Philip realizes tears are starting to trickle down his face. “I know that doesn’t fix anything, but I am. The only way I know how to fight back is with my words. Uh, I see you, on the other hand, seem to be a voracious physical assailant.”_ _

__Philip keeps the smile this time, minute and begrudging. George continues, “I thought if I could explain how I felt, I’d change your mind.”_ _

The grin gives way to a suspicious huff. “Why couldn’t you do that by talking to me? By sending _me_ your dissertation instead of putting it out for the world to see?” 

__George visibly winces. “Call it a grand gesture? That sounds like shit, but I mean it. Like flowers on your bed or a Valentine in your locker, or whatever. We got together based off of an article about your father, so I thought, maybe, this would go the same way.”_ _

__Unwillingly, Phillip feels his face soften. Somewhere in the distance, a chorus of crickets begin their slumber song. “Last time, you wrote that piece to incite some participation in the school. Right?”_ _

__Veiled in the night and the noise, George swallows back what Phillip assumes to be a sob. “No. I disliked Mr. Hamilton the day I met him.”_ _

__Philip does his best to take this in stride, because he’s not here to start yelling at him again. He’s here to make sense of it, to get George to actually be honest with him. He barely remembers the first time he’d brought George to the house and Alexander had been there, because he hadn’t given it a second thought. They’d shaken hands, exchanged pleasantries, and the boys had trolloped off to Philip’s room._ _

__“Why?” He has so much more to ask, but this is what he says._ _

__George finally breaks eye contact, moist eyes seeming to be searching for that overblown star, as well. “He was crass. He was rude. He told me if my father hadn’t fallen ill, he just might have stopped the war a few years earlier. It didn’t sit right with me.”_ _

Heart melting even further, Philip nudges George’s palms, and he immediately pulls them up to press them to his mouth. He needs to patent those, because the dull ache in his knuckles seems to ease, just a bit. He's pleased when George finds his face again. “He _is_ crass. He _is_ rude. But he isn't a bad person. Have you ever stepped back and really examined what he's saying? To me, it sounds like he’d been sorry your dad had gotten sick, and he really believed in him as a soldier. Did you ever think about it that way?” 

__The thrown look that decimates George’s face would be comical, if everything they represented to each other wasn’t on the line. “No.” His shoulders shake._ _

__He hadn't planned on saying this next bit, but it pops into his head and insists to be heard, so he blurts out, “Is your father a bad person?”_ _

__George’s blood seems to run cold, because the heat of his palms dissolves into ice. It still relieves the sharp pain, however; Philip doesn’t think George can get away from healing him. After a few good minutes of nothing, George’s small voice whispers, “I guess.”_ _

__Philip hugs him, and they collapse into one another. They fit so well, how had neither noticed? Philip’s head tucks perfectly into his neck, and George’s long arms and legs hold him so tenderly to his body. Philip never wants to move, even if that means the issue stays unresolved. Nevertheless, he forces himself to pull back, and he winds his fingers into George’s hair._ _

__George bursts into tears, then. Philip has never seen him so much as sniffle, so this breach in privacy means all the more to him. Before he can ask something else, it all comes falling out of George. “He hurts me,” he hiccups, and Philip has to do everything he can not to make his way towards the Eacker estate right now. “It’s the cane. If I don’t do well in school, he beats me. If I don’t do what I’m told, he beats me. If I stay too late with you, he beats me. My mama died when I was fourteen, and it all went to shit from there. I just wanted to keep you safe. I didn't want Mr. Hamilton's callousness to turn into...into that.”_ _

__Philip can feel his soul nearly drain from his body. He’d had to witness the antics of a man who thought he owned his wife; now his boy is the victim of such terror, and for so long? “How come I’ve never seen?” he mumbles, afraid to break the spell. “I saw you naked not a week ago.”_ _

__George’s skin grows hot again, and Philip briefly worries about him catching cold, but he pushes on. “Secret places. Don't want you to see.”_ _

__Philip definitely doesn’t like the way his usually elegant phrases are suddenly shortening, but he keeps his cool as he runs his fingers over his thin shirt. “I'd like to. Please? I need to make sure you're okay.”_ _

__Vibrating in his fear, George slowly begins to unbutton. Philip barely takes in the abs he’d missed so much, the soft pecs, the ticklish belly, before George turns around and tugs on the hem of his trousers. There, hidden masterfully in the dark allure of the skin on his hips, is a circle-shaped bruise. Before Philip can even respond, George tugs his pants to his thighs. Philip tries to move to cover him with his coat, because even now, he’s shivering; but he makes a sound and points to the top of his thigh. Another. The curve of his ankle. Another. His armpit. Another._ _

__“Jesus Christ,” Philip mutters. George seems like he’s about to apologize, so Philip quickly tugs his clothes back on, drapes his jacket over his shoulders, and he pulls him in as tight to his chest as he can._ _

__From underneath his shirt, George mumbles, “Still messed up. Still sorry.”_ _

__Philip chuckles through his own crying as George’s hand finds his hair, squeezing to keep himself here. “I know you are, my love,” he whispers, and the relieved snivel George lets out makes Philip’s heart feel a little lighter. Daringly, he grazes his hands up George’s shirt, finding the swollen purple he’s concealed so well. George practically mewls. “I appreciate it, and we can make it right. But, for now, let’s go home, okay?”_ _

__Letting out a broken scream, George jerks away and begins crawling back on his hands. “Can’t go back!” he weeps. Philip has never seen him in a state like this, and he’s getting steadily more scared. “No, no, no, no! Don’t make me! Don’t!”_ _

__“No, George!” Philip desperately reaches for him, and George staggers to a stop, quaking like a wounded animal. The shadow of Maria seems to hover behind him, crying and hiding from their husband. He can’t allow this to happen again. “My house! My house. It’s safe there. You know nobody will hurt you.”_ _

George stops his movements, but he balls up as tight as he can as he gapes at Philip. Philip is suddenly rocked to his core, because he realizes George looks _exactly_ like a little kid. “Bad,” he whines, clutching his knees even tighter. “Don’t like me. Nuh-uh.” 

__Philip wastes no time scuttling over to him, albeit slowly, and George finally lets him hold him once more. He still doesn’t budge. “I’m telling you,” Philip says in the sweet, convincing voice he uses when Maria’s crawled under a table, “Alex isn’t bad. He can be impolite, sure, but he’s nothing like...like that other man. He’s never laid a hand on me, and he never will. Let’s get out of this cold, baby, please?”_ _

__George doesn’t speak for a second, but he manages to brush his trembling fingers against Philip. “Y’cold?” he asks in that strange, tinny tone he’s adopted._ _

__Philip pounces. “I am. Look, I have goosebumps, see?" He goes to implore him further, but George immediately stands._ _

__“Go,” he says, and Philip quickly rises, threading their hands together. George takes them both gently, so gently, and kisses each and every knuckle. It doesn’t hurt at all. “Warm.”_ _

__Philip can’t help but nuzzle him affectionately, knowing that through whatever state he’s in, George can still get around that haughtiness of his and take care of Philip. He lays a soft kiss on his forehead. The beam that splits George’s face seems so pure, he can’t help but feel this night, even with the fear and the rage boiling through them both, was a success._ _

__“You’re right. Let’s go get warm.” They step off the dueling ground hand-in-broken-hand, and if George stumbles a little bit on the way, or if he babbles under his breath, Philip doesn’t say a word._ _

__─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───_ _

__Philip manages to get George home safely, although once or twice, he seems to forget what they’re doing. He can hear all three of the older Hamiltons bustling about in the kitchen, and George seems to loosen his shoulders a bit at the sheer warmth of the house._ _

__“Good,” he mumbles, a fistful of Philip’s shirt in his quivering fist, and Philip smells the deliciousness as soon as they walk in._ _

__“We can all have some once we get you under some blankets, how’s that sound?” George sniffles amicably._ _

__Philip carefully navigates them around the room, hoping they won’t be noticed, not yet. He has to get George somewhere safe before he can even begin to explain this. They’re halfway down the hall when Susie comes bounding out of her bedroom, her floral dress dragging on the wooden floor under her feet. “George!” she exclaims, running up to him and giving his left leg a big hug._ _

__A flicker of recognition passes over George’s dilated pupils. “Susie?” he says softly, managing to rest one of those big hands of his atop her curls._ _

__“I haven’t seen you in forever!” she groans, bumping his knee with her forehead. “I got so many new toys and dolls and books, I wanna show you! Please, please, please?”_ _

__George quickly darts his gaze over to Philip, as if asking his permission. Philip only has to smile before Susie’s grabbing his wrist and tugging him back from whence she came. George looks over his shoulder at him, still looking distressed, but under the blissful cover of distraction._ _

__Satisfied, Philip turns to find his family, only to see them all standing at the hallway entrance. Eliza seems to be the only shocked one of the bunch; Maria appears relieved, with her arms hanging by their sides, and Alex has managed to put the perfect smug face on, as if he’d somehow aided in this development. Philip supposes he has._ _

__Philip cuts through them all, making his way into the warm kitchen. Before they can bombard him with questions, as their rapid footsteps follow him in, he says without turning around, “George is going to be staying with me for a while.”_ _

__Nobody seems to have been expecting that. As Philip tries to give himself his own distraction, stirring the large pot of stew on the stove, Maria comes in behind him. “I think I’ve heard that one before.”_ _

__Philip only grunts. He can’t let his anger resurface, in case George can read it and interpret it differently. Whatever headspace he’s in, he seems to be guarding himself from the secret he’d no doubt hidden away from everyone. If he wasn’t acting this way, Philip couldn’t imagine what the other extreme would be._ _

__“I take it you two made up?” Alex tries, obviously steering the conversation in a different direction._ _

__As a shock to them all, Philip absently turns and kisses his father’s cheek. This may be the only thing that has truly made Alexander Hamilton speechless, as he stands there with his jaw hanging open. “It went very well,” Philip replies, turning down the heat._ _

__When they realize he’s not going to reveal any more information, they reluctantly set about setting the dining table. Eliza sets George’s place right next to Philip’s, and his plate is certainly the one piled highest._ _

__Philip wanders back to Susie’s room, and he stops himself in the doorway as his heart swells. Susie’s in full narration mode, switching between dolls at an erratic pace so her story seems richer; George is sitting cross legged next to her, not messing with anything himself, but watching the play unfold as if it were Shakespearean. This is the most calm he’s looked all night. Philip almost feels sorry to rap on the frame and call, “Dinner’s ready.”_ _

__Susie bolts from under him, having apparently been preparing for this moment. George slowly gets to his feet, but his eyes are on the ground as he walks up to him._ _

__“Talk to me,” Philip murmurs, resting a hand on his cheek. George presses their foreheads together, and Philip thinks a piece of his boy has reemerged._ _

__“I don’t think I should attend,” he starts, but Philip rubs his sides and kisses the tip of his nose._ _

__“Just for a few minutes, please?” Philip bats his eyelashes for good affect, and it works perfectly. Sighing, George threads their fingers together, and they make their way back._ _

__If George remembers his episode, he doesn’t mention it, so neither does Philip._ _

__All eyes are on them as they take their seats. Philip’s trying to drum up an ice breaker, but George impresses him when he straightens up and says, “Mr. Hamilton, Mrs. Hamilton, er...Maria...I’d like to apologize for the article I published. Free speech is a constitutional right, but I don’t think that applies here. I should have kept my personal feelings out of my professional writing, because none of you deserved such a scandalous write-up, and especially not you, Mr. Hamilton. I’m very sorry.”_ _

__It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop, which William emulates by dropping his spoon. While Angelica stoops to pick it up, Alexander turns to George and seems to take him in for the first time. In retrospect, Philip’s never seen his dad try too hard with his boyfriend, either; maybe the stalemate between them wasn’t quite a one-way street._ _

__As if the past few days couldn’t get any more bizarre, Alexander nods, “I’m sorry as well, Mr. Eacker. Sometimes my ambition gets in the way of my manners, and I wouldn’t discount whatever experience you felt proved that to you. Hopefully, we can move on from it and start our friendship anew. Would that be acceptable?”_ _

__George looks so stunned, Philip’s afraid he might fall over. Instead, he reaches over the table to give Alex a handshake. “M-more than acceptable, sir. Thank you so much.”_ _

__Alex returns it, offering a smile, and the rest of dinner is almost pleasant._ _

__George helps clear the table, and then the two men find themselves back in Philip’s bedroom. Curling underneath one of the thin sheets, George holds out his arms. Philip wastes no time scrambling in between, holding George’s head to his chest._ _

__“I must disgust you,” George breaks the silence with his morose words. “I’m sorry about how I acted, Philip. It’s never happened before, I—”_ _

Philip puts a finger to his lips, making sure they can both see one another in the dim light of the lantern. “If it took you away from all of that...that _bullshit_ , I don’t care. I’d take it any day of the week. You were kinda cute, anyway.” 

__Snorting, George tries to roll over, but with an “Oh, no, you don’t,” Philip tugs him back over, and he finally allows himself to kiss him. He’s still cold, but his lips are the same they’ve always been: tobacco and coffee. Philip hates both of those things, and yet he’d die to taste George’s mouth until the end of time._ _

__When they reluctantly part, they clutch the other’s hair at the same time, both giggling like school children. “I can’t stay here,” George suddenly starts, but when Philip gives him a raised eyebrow, he backtracks, “Or...I can?”_ _

__“If you think I’m sending you back home, you’re dumber than I thought you were, George Eacker.” George seems like he wants to argue, whether it be about returning or Philip thinking him stupid; but he relents, tangling a loose lock in his finger, and draws Philip in for another kiss._ _

__“I could get used to this,” George simpers, suddenly mischievous, and Philip shrieks when his freezing hands go under his shirt._ _

__He tries to leap out of the bed, injuries be damned, but George winds all his limbs around him. He buries his face in his neck and cackles, “Sending me home yet?”_ _

__Philip stills, and he melts into his arrogant, egotistical, beautiful boy. “Shut up and go to sleep.”_ _

__They don’t for a few more hours, but when they do, they’re whole, they’re alive, and they get to keep one another in their lives forever._ _

__They’ll deal with the rest of the bullshit in the morning._ _

__─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───_ _

_**A KING’S GAZETTE RETRACTION: SEXUALITY OF STATE**_

_Upon further inspection of the Hamiltons’ character, one George Eacker would like to publish an addendum to his previous article._

_My opinion on the obduracy of Mr. Alexander Hamilton still stands, as I’m sure it will in most of you. But I have one more question to pose, the readers of this diverse, accessible gazette: have you figured out how you show love? Do your friends compliment you, but avoid your company? Does your lover hide from your touch, but relish in your prose? Do you find gifts in your locker, and, in return, you take over projects your lover cannot complete?_

_It has taken me quite a while to realize that when I interpret one’s love as a lack thereof, or vise versa, I seem to be terribly mistaken. This has happened with my father, and it has happened with my partner, Philip Hamilton (consent to publish this fact has indeed been obtained). It occurred in my poor analysis of Alexander Hamilton. The only thing I want the people of the nation to take away from my writing, from my past article, is this:_

_Skip the pleasantries. Communicate. Tell them, show them, do whatever you must to look past your preconceived notions and expectations of how one should love you, and realize that this love is present regardless._

_Now, onto the revolting morals and sheer abhorrence of the man Jacob Eacker, one who deserves the shame and ridicule I’d placed on the wrong person. It has taken me days surrounded by a family that truly, genuinely adores one another to realize what I had truly been subjected to. Please be warned, this perspective will be highly graphic..._

__

_...written by George I. Eacker_

__

_Edited by Philip Hamilton_

__


End file.
